


Something Wicked

by Cryo_Bucky



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Dark Humor, Ghost Bucky, M/M, Magic Circles, Meet-Ugly, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Redwing the dog, Sam and Nat are good bros, Schmoop, buck's terrible jokes, character death (outside of story), embedded art, handwavey magic, since bucky is a ghost, unprecedented levels of sass, witch hats from ebay, witch steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 19:17:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12588772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryo_Bucky/pseuds/Cryo_Bucky
Summary: Steve finds an old spell book with the power to summon the dead. He casts the spell hoping to meet the father he never knew, but some wires get crossed and he ends up summoning this cutie named Bucky …and then somehow the same thing happens the next night… and the night after that. He definitely doesn’t have a crush on the dead guy.Summary and embedded art from Hopelessgeek!





	Something Wicked

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hopeless--Geek (wuzzy90)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wuzzy90/gifts).



> Whee I didn't miss the halloween deadline! Thank you to everyone for your help with this fic, Hope for the lovely art inspiration and brainstorming, and all the people on the RBB and Trash slack for helping me come up with Bucky's ridiculous deaths. Also thanks to [ Sunrow ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunrow)for the quick beta!

[](https://78.media.tumblr.com/2e070f13ee7361c70b9fd7edbdd53668/tumblr_oxmqlnTJHk1wouxmco1_1280.png)  


The spellbook was almost as big as his torso, and if Steve grunted a little as he heaved it up the stairs to the attic, then no one had to know. He'd spent most of the morning cleaning and dusting to prepare for the ritual, routing out all the cobwebs and coughing up a storm trying to banish the motes of dust bunnies. Now the floor gleamed in the white light of the moon. The spellbook made a solid thump as he set it and himself in the middle of the room, crossing his legs neatly to flip through the thick pages. A box of tea lights he'd purchased last week was hung neatly in its bag on the doorknob and he dug into it, pulling his dad's old zippo from his back pocket to light one and set it near enough to squint at the pages. 

Finding the book had been a miracle, really, but Brooklyn had a long history of magic and Steve wasn't going to question this one stroke of luck if the book actually worked after finding it in an estate sale. It seemed convincing enough, if a little cliche with the thick pages and the leather bound cover. Honestly the most likely reason no one else had picked it up was that it was written in Irish Gaelic, something that almost no one spoke over here, let alone read. Steve might not look the traditional witch, but his mother had shown him enough to get by, with both magic and a tight hold on their Irish heritage. He did his best to do her proud on both fronts, he'd even gotten a witch hat! Though it was big enough to try and fall over his eyes if he moved his head too fast. 

Pulling the book open, Steve dug through the pages for the one he had been agonizing over for weeks since he got it. There were lots of useful spells in the pages, but the one that he was interested in was smack in the middle. "To Summon the Dead" was written in huge curling letters at the top, and Steve had read it enough times to have the spell memorized. He'd lost enough people in his life, it seemed only natural that was the first spell he tried. 

Grabbing the box of tea lights, Steve checked on the page as he crawled across the floor to make the neatest circle he could with the warm orange light, before plopping himself back into the circle and lighting the large votives in the center. 

It had been a long time since he'd read anything in Gaelic, and he had to dig his phone out of his pocket to check a handful of the words. But after a few minor adjustments and settling himself as comfortably as possible on the wooden floor, Steve took a deep breath, straightening his hat and pushing down his nerves. He took the lighter out of his pocket and set it in front of him, rubbing his fingers over the worn surface like a worry stone before steeling himself and focusing on the page in front of him. 

The words fell from his lips haltingly, but he managed to get through the incantation without flubbing it too badly, his eyes closed tightly in equal parts focus and nerves. He had to be prepared for this not to work, there was no telling-

"Hey you punk, what you doin' callin' me here?" 

Steve's eyes flew open and he blinked hard at the man sitting in front of him, the eerie translucent quality of him making the hairs on the back of Steve's neck stand up. He'd actually managed to summon a ghost. 

"You're not Joseph Rogers?"

"I'm Bucky Barnes." The man leaned back on his hands, his legs still crossed as he stared down his nose at Steve. 

"The hell kind of name is Bucky?" The words fell from Steve's mouth before he could stop them, feeling anger boil in his chest. The spell had worked, but he somehow had ended up with this stranger instead of his father. 

Bucky was still regarding him with a slight smirk. "The hell kind'a hat is that?"

"I went through five stores to find this and ended up ordering it online, fuck you very much," Steve snapped, his ire rising. He didn't need this stranger, this ghost, judging his life choices. How did he send him back? Him and his stupid smirk and softly curling hair and chin dimple. _Oh no._

"Is that any way to talk to a guest?" Bucky's smirk had widened, like he thought this was all some kind of joke.

Steve didn’t look at him, angrily flipping through pages of the book, his hat threatening to fall into his eyes again ."You're not a guest. Go away." 

There was a slight brush of wind against Steve's skin, the flames of the candles around him waving, and when Steve looked up Bucky was gone. He deflated a bit, yanking his hat off his head as it slipped down yet again. Telling himself again and again that the spell might not work hadn't been enough to dampen his hope, but now, even if he tried again, what was he going to get? 

Blowing out all the candles took forever, when he kept having to stop to wheeze, cursing at himself for getting to worked up over this. 

Bucky Barnes seemed like a huge jerk anyway. He probably deserved what got him. 

 

 

Steve left the summoning circle up, but didn't think on it the whole next day, busying himself with chores and tending the plants that decorated almost every surface of the house to distract himself from the disappointment at the way the spell had worked out. His mother had been a green witch, and while he hadn't inherited much of her skill, he had managed to keep most of the plants alive. Some of them required special tending, and he was at a loss of how to keep them from wilting. He’d lost his mother a few years ago, and he still missed her fiercely. He’d planned to summon her initially, but the thought of dragging her here and then having to let her go had been...too much. He’d thought maybe meeting his father would stifle his loneliness for a little while, but instead he’d gotten that jerk.

His thoughts consumed him so thoroughly that he didn’t notice until he had torn a vine from one of the plants he’d been trying to water. Shit. He was going to end up killing all of them. There were a few plant spells in the book, he'd noticed them in the hand-notated glossary in the front. 

Dragging himself up the creaky stairs to the attic, Steve froze when he saw that the tea lights which made up his summoning circle were re-lit, their orange glow soft in the darkening room. When had it gotten so late? 

"It's rude to ignore your guests." Bucky was sitting in the center of the circle, his curling smile back on his lips. 

Steve felt himself prickle at the smooth but familiar Brooklyn drawl that greeted him. Apparently Bucky hadn't left afterall. Or he’d come back. "I told you yesterday, you're no guest." 

“You’re the one that summoned me here, pal. Don’t know what you were expecting.” Bucky leaned back on his hands again, posture open and relaxed. It pissed Steve off. 

“I did not summon _you_. I summoned my father!” Steve stalked closer, hands balled up into fists. 

Bucky’s eyebrows rose. “You’re plannin’ on punching a ghost? Real smart. Don’t know how you messed up your spell but apparently you get me instead.” 

Steve ground his teeth together, his jaw tight. “You’re a real gift. Why are you still sitting there?” 

Bucky sat up, leaning toward Steve. “I can’t leave the circle.” At Steve’s murderous look he pushed on, “As to why I’m still _here_.” He gestured to the room around them. “I ain’t got any unfinished business or anything, so I’ve just been relaxing, it’s kinda nice to see what’s happening in the corporeal world.” 

Steve frowned, stepping gingerly over the tea lights, careful not to catch his pant leg on fire as he settled down across from Bucky. “I’m guessing from your attire it was fairly recently but not within the last ten years. How did you die?” 

“Autoerotic asphyxiation." Bucky was straight-faced as he said it but broke into a grin as soon as the words were out of his mouth. 

Steve wanted to hit him, but remembered he couldn’t. “Fuck you. What the hell kind of name is Bucky anyway?” 

Bucky leaned closer to him again. “You never told me your name, ya’know. Hard to fire back when I don’t know it.” 

“Steve Rogers.” Steve automatically held out his hand to shake and then dropped it after a moment when he caught Bucky’s smirk. “Did you re-light the candles on your own?” 

Bucky flickered for a moment. He was there, his semi-translucent self, and then he faded out like someone had rubbed him away, only to flick back. His expression was troubled. “Yeah. Took me all day to do it. Don’t know if I can do it again, gave me one hell of a headache. Tried to open your book to see if there was a spell to help me get it done, but I can’t…” To prove his point he reached out and swiped his hand through Steve’s arm. 

Steve yelped, jerking it back at the strange sensation. “You can’t just stick your hand in someone’s arm!” 

Bucky laughed, his head thrown back and his eyes crinkled at the edges. He looked....alive like that, and Steve had a sudden flash of the kind of man that Bucky had been before he died. He probably had family that missed him. 

Bucky had pulled himself together, wiping at his eyes. “I can’t leave the circle, but even I know we’re in an attic. You here by yourself in this big house? I ain’t heard anyone else.” 

“Just me.” Steve was feeling a little thrown by sudden change in atmosphere around them. A moment ago he’d wanted to strangle the life out of Bucky himself, and now… Well, he didn’t seem like as much of a creep. Maybe. “My ma...died last year.” 

“Why didn’t you summon her?” Bucky leaned forward again, straightening out his legs and resting his wrist on his ankle. Steve could see the candles flickering on the other side of the circle through him. 

Steve shrugged. “I miss her sure. But it didn’t seem right to drag her back here if she’s at peace.” The thought of seeing her again was still too painful, the sting of missing her too sharp to bear not having her _really_ here. He shook his head to dispel the sad thoughts. “I tried to summon my father, so that I could actually meet him. He died before I was born.” 

“I was at peace, I’m fine to bother?” Bucky said as he plucked at the folded hem of his jeans. 

“I didn’t summon you the second time. You came to bother me of your own power.” Steve pointed out, a yawn stretching his lips. “Oh, the book.” He twisted, his back protesting the change and making him wince a little as he drug the heavy spellbook toward him. “I was looking for a spell to keep ma’s plants from dying.” He licked his thumb and flipped through the pages, brushing his bangs out of his eyes when they refused to stay back. 

Bucky didn’t seem done, scooting closer to try and read over Steve’s shoulder, making the hairs on the back of Steve’s neck stand up with his proximity; Bucky charged the air with ozone like the moment before a thunderstorm. 

“So uh-” Steve couldn’t stand the silence, but didn’t look up from the book. “You never told me how you died. There’s no mark on you, what happened?” 

Bucky snorted. “"Heart attack from too many energy drinks." 

Steve turned to frown at him. “Fine. Don’t tell me.” It was probably kind of personal, but he couldn’t push down his curiosity. “What’s it like being dead?” He asked. 

Bucky grinned at him. “Well, here on the mortal plane is pretty boring. I can’t even touch anything.” He reached through Steve’s arm to prove his point, and Steve made the same indignant noise as before, “There’s no real….form over there. At least not that I can tell. You just kind of...are. It’s pleasant but not as fun as being down here.” 

“Huh...” Steve looked at Bucky for a long moment, at a loss of what to say. Bucky moved to jostle him, but instead his shoulder went through Steve’s side, making Steve leap up with the strange intrusive feeling. “Could you not? Jerk!” 

Bucky had flopped over to laugh again, the warm candle light painting his face in soft golden glow. He was...certainly something. Not what Steve had expected for sure, but not in a bad way. 

The grandfather clock downstairs thrummed 11 o’clock and Steve stood up. “I gotta go to bed, get an early start tomorrow.” Bucky had straightened himself out, his long legs neatly folded again. 

“Sure. Sleep well Stevie.” 

Steve stepped over the summoning circle, trying to ignore the flutter in his chest. “Night Buck.” He bent down to pick up one of the votives and Bucky disappeared like a stiff wind had blown him away, the rest of the candles snuffed out immediately. 

As he curled up under the covers, listening to the familiar sounds of the old house setting, Steve buried himself in pillows and tried not to let Bucky consume his thoughts. He did not have a crush on that jerk, even if he was handsome and funny, he was dead for god's sakes. 

 

The shrill beep of his alarm clock jerked Steve awake. He rolled over with a groan, stretching and wincing as his back popped in a symphony of horrible sounds. After laying there for another long moment he kicked off the blankets and scrubbed his hands over his face as he wandered toward the bathroom. His hair was a colossal mess, but he didn’t have time to shower; he had to meet his friends today, and he’d never hear the end of it if he was late. Eyeing the contact box on the shelf he decided to wear his glasses instead, his eyes were too dry from lack of sleep anyway. Only after settling the thick black frames on his nose did he wander back toward his room to find something to wear. Grabbing his phone off the nightstand he flipped it over and sighed, 4% battery wasn’t going to get him very far. He always forgot to charge the damn thing, no matter how often Natasha teased him about his relative technology incompetence. He could work it just fine, he just didn’t use it much. 

Shuffling down the stairs he pulled open the fridge and grabbed at the loaf of bread. Sometimes he sharply wished he’d inherited more of his mother’s skills. Her green thumb had extended to preparation of plants as well, and her cooking had been some of the best he’d ever had; and he definitely wasn’t biased. Sadly, there were no spells to make the slow cooker flavor things for you. 

Even with wandering blearily through his morning routine, Steve managed to get himself out of the house with time to spare. Looping the scarf a few times around his head to keep out the autumn cold, despite looking like he was drowning in all his layers, at least he was warm. 

The coffee shop was the same as always, the bell over the door tinkling cheerfully as Steve pushed the door open. Thursday mornings were for coffee and bullshitting; it was a tradition now. 

“Hey Steve!” Sam waved at him, a grin on his lips as he cradled his large coffee tenderly. He had already claimed the most comfortable table, “Nat can’t come today, she’s got a thing.” 

Steve plopped down at the table across from Sam, sinking into the plush arm chair and unwinding his scarf from around his head. “Dance or enchantment this time?” 

Sam sipped from his coffee. “Dance this time. I wonder if they’ll ever realize she’s enchanted her shoes not to wear.” 

Steve shrugged. “She doesn’t need to enchant her stuff to be the best, and everyone knows that.” He reluctantly pulled himself out of the chair to go and order himself his usual.

“So, what’s up with you this week? Work has been kicking my ass.” Sam sprawled out in his chair as Steve returned cradling his own coffee. “But I’m glad to be home for a few days.” 

Steve nodded. “I heard it was a pretty nasty storm this time. How’s Redwing? I’m surprised you didn’t bring him.” The big dog was nearly a constant at Sam’s side every other time, the two of them partners whenever they went into disaster zones to save people. Steve couldn’t have more respect for his friend using his magic to help, no matter how creepy it was to watch Sam’s eyes roll back when he traveled. 

“He’s fine. Just resting after such a long week; I didn’t want to drag him out. Anything new with you?” 

Steve carefully examined his coffee. “Well, I finally tried one of the spells from that book.” 

Sam sat up, “You did? No way, how did it go? Did it work?” 

“Well I tried to summon my dad, but...I don’t know, somewhere the wires got crossed and I got someone else.” Steve plowed on before Sam could say anything more, “He’s kind of a real jerk, but…” 

Sam was grinning at him. “You have a crush on the dead guy, don’t you?” 

Steve sputtered, nearly choking on his coffee. “I do not!” 

“It's hard to suck ghost dick, y’know.” Sam’s grin lit up his face with glee. 

“Fuck you Wilson. I'm not sucking his dick. He's a jerk. It’s just… I'm interested in him.” 

Sam didn't lose his grin, but went back to sipping his coffee.

Steve glared at him over the rim of his cup. “Just because I haven't found my specialty yet doesn't mean-”

“I’m just teasing you man. I’m glad the spell worked; and I can't wait to meet your dead boyfriend.” 

Steve considered throwing his coffee at him. 

 

The next few weeks passed in much the same manner, snow dusting the world outside as Steve tried to keep himself from succumbing to cabin fever while working at home. His art had nothing to do with magic, but it kept his mind busy enough. Keeping up with the plants was basically a full time job anyway. Some of them were still dying, and he didn't think he could save them. The house was old and drafty, and he spent most of his time bundled in blankets. He'd never felt the loss of his mother so keenly, so he spent a lot of time up in the attic with Bucky. 

Bucky, however, did seem to be changing. He'd managed to re-light the candles for himself a few times now, and he'd become more active, trying to push the boundaries of the summoning circle, but still unable to touch or move anything. 

“It's annoying, y’know? I just want to be able to…” he waved his arms. “I mean, not that this circle isn't super interesting, but I can barely see out the window.” 

Steve sat just outside the circle, watching Bucky press himself against the invisible wall. “I thought you said you were at peace, why work yourself up with this?”

“I'm sure as hell not feeling so at peace anymore. Gotta watch over your dumb ass. Make sure you eat.” 

“I eat just fine.” Steve’s stomach chose that perfect time to whine piteously. 

“Toast for every meal is not food.” 

Steve shrugged. “I’ll make something else when you tell me how you died.”

Bucky crossed his arms. “Murdered, serial killer. This ain't even what I look like, I'm just made up of parts. You should see my-” 

“Oh my God, shut up.” Steve snorted. “You're never going to tell me the truth. Don't know why I bother.”

Steve found himself looking forward to spending any time he could with Bucky. Despite being a continued pain in his ass, Bucky was definitely growing on him. He was interesting, surprisingly knowledgeable, and seemed endlessly interested in Steve’s relatively boring life. 

“Did you look in the book for any way to make me more corporeal?” Bucky reached out to nudge it with his foot and frowned when his loafer breezed through the thick pages. 

Steve shook his head. “The book is mostly summonings and enchantments. Nothing more about ghosts.” 

Bucky cursed, pacing the circle again. “I’ll just have to keep trying.” 

“I don't think it's a good idea for you to try and leave the house-” Steve said, but Bucky cut him off. 

“I don't want to leave the house, I just want to see more than this room. Maybe help you out a little.” 

“Why?” Steve wasn't sure how to feel about that. “I don't need your pity-”

“It's not pity, you idiot. I just don't like you being all alone. Something you can't even touch isn't very good company.” 

“I think you're just fine, Buck. Sit down.” Steve stepped over the votives, reaching for Bucky before he remembered and just settled next to the spell book. He had poured over it for hours, but there was really nothing else he could use to give Bucky more form. 

Bucky perched next to him, shoving his elbow through Steve just to hear him shriek at the strange sensation. 

 

Sam seemed endlessly entertained by Steve’s pining for a dead man. Because that's definitely what it was now. He'd made sure to tell Natasha all the dirt too, and now Steve had both of them bugging him almost every day for more information on Bucky. 

By the time that the solstice had passed, Steve was tired. Despite trying to take the best care of himself that he could, he had gotten a cough, unleashing the worst mothering that Steve could have ever expected from Bucky. 

“I have to leave the circle Steve. You gotta ask Sam or Nat to check up on you, something. Something could happen-”

Steve felt himself bristle under Bucky’s attention. “Don't worry about it Buck, I can get by just fine on my own. It's just a cough.” He pulled the blanket he had dragged up with him tighter around his shoulders; stifling his coughing and trying not to wheeze. 

Bucky shot him a dubious look, but dropped the topic, instead telling Steve about the Christmases that he could remember from being alive. He had three little sisters, that he talked about all the time. Steve got the feeling that he had been a good big brother. They probably missed him. 

“So, how did you die?” Steve piped up when Bucky trailed off, earning another annoyed look.

“Poisoned, lead poisoning from a jealous ex-girlfriend.” 

Steve snorted. “You told me you were gay last week.” 

Bucky grinned, giving him a wink. 

Steve’s cough persisted for another week, and he felt himself draining, exhaustion creeping up behind him as he tried to keep up with the house. Natasha seemed determined to help, bringing him a truly frightening array of casseroles and soups, and Sam brought Redwing over to cuddle and watch movies. Steve felt like a burden, and it drove him insane; as much as he appreciated his friend’s worry, he really did. 

“No really, Nat, I'm fine.” Steve leaned against the table, trying to breathe through his wheezy lungs. “I'm getting better, it's just a winter cough.” 

“What about your man? What does he think? Also, am I ever going to get to meet him?”

Steve shrugged. He'd considered summoning Bucky to let him meet Sam, but Bucky had told him he was too nervous. He seemed determined to free himself from the summoning circle before Steve introduced him to people. 

“He’s a worry-wart. I've got plenty of poultices and things to keep me going over the weekend. I know you and Sam are busy; you don't have to keep an eye on me all the time. Did you get your electric spell to work?” 

“Of course. It only took a little doing.” She twisted her wrist, showing him the mechanism she had built to contain electricity. She was honestly equal parts caster and engineer. Steve was always impressed. She twisted her wrist again and the crackle of electricity sparked over her hands, cackling in the air. “I'm thinking they need a cool name.” 

Steve grinned. “I’ll think about it and text you.” 

She hugged him tightly, forcing him to take the rest of yet another casserole, and promise to call her if he didn't feel better by Sunday when she got back. 

Steve’s visit with Bucky was short that night, seeing as he was having trouble keeping his eyes open already. Bucky prodded him until he dragged himself back downstairs and shoveled as much casserole as he could manage into himself before he curled up on the couch in front of the TV. He drifted for a while, sipping at one of the remedy tea concoctions his mom had taught him, but still his eyes kept slipping closed. The thought of making it all the way up to his bed was just too much, so he curled up with one of the couch pillows and tried to keep his coughing to a minimum long enough to drift off. 

He woke up coughing just as the grandfather clock struck 3AM, doubling over and wheezing until he felt like his lungs were going to come out his throat. He couldn’t catch his breath, his body seemingly determined to cough itself to death. He sucked in some air only to redouble the spasming of his lungs. He couldn’t breathe, his throat feeling like it had shrunk down to the size of a straw, he wheezed weakly, his addled brain too tired to figure out what he needed to do. He couldn’t _breathe_. 

“Steve!” Suddenly there were hands on him, shockingly cold but definitely there, warming quickly just from touching him. His head was forced up, straightening out his back a little and helping him manage to suck in a breath of air without immediately coughing it all out again.

The world swam sickeningly before his eyes as he sucked in greedy lungfuls of air, the cup he had nearly forgotten about shoved into his shaking hands. Only once he’d managed to pull in a few good breaths and swallow a little water did the room stop spinning. 

“Bucky?” Steve stared up in wonder at the man in front of him, looking far more corporeal than he had ever seen before. “You’re not in the circle...you’re-you’re touching me.” Steve couldn’t keep the shock out of his voice, even though it rasped and broke between his words as his poor throat protested. 

Bucky knelt down in front of him, and Steve could hear his knees thunk against the floor. He was solid, or, mostly. When he moved his hands they faded out for a moment, though they felt cool and nearly solid against Steve’s cheeks. 

“I heard you stop breathing. I couldn’t…” Bucky wouldn’t stop touching him, cupping his face in both hands. “I had to help.” His touch wasn’t quite there, like the sensation of something just tickling the surface of your skin without solid contact, but it was certainly something. It seemed the initial panic had been enough for Bucky to manifest himself as practically solid, but now he was fading out again.

Steve felt his stomach swoop and he wheezed again, taking a quick drink from his cup to stop another onslaught of coughs. “Uh, wow, thanks.” Steve’s ears burned under the intensity of Bucky’s gaze. 

Bucky flickered, disappearing completely for a moment before coming back. “Fuck, this is hard to maintain.” If he had been alive, Steve would have figured he’d be out of breath, but instead he just kind of fluctuated. 

“I’ll come up.” Steve was already pulling himself up, wobbling a little and clutching his teacup tightly as Bucky disappeared fully. 

By the time Steve had made it all the way up the stairs Bucky was outside the circle again, though he was just wandering the rest of the attic with a quizzical look. 

“Wow, Buck, you did it.” Steve sagged a little as he sat down, too tired to tell Bucky off for immediately coming up to arrange his blankets more securely around his shoulders. “You can touch stuff now.” 

Bucky nodded, reaching out to open the spellbook, and grumbling when it didn’t budge. “Guess I can’t touch everything.” 

Steve felt worry dig into him and he grabbed at Bucky’s arm as he paced by. “But Buck, if you’re- are you...haunting me now? You said you were at peace.” 

Bucky knelt down, brushing his hands over Steve’s jaw again, seemingly just to relish in the fact that he could reach for him at all. “I aquired some unfinished business.” 

Steve reached up, frowning when his hands passed through Bucky. “Doesn’t go both ways, huh?” 

Bucky pulled away. “I think it’ll take some more work. I’ll get there. You’re stuck with me now, Stevie.” 

Steve grinned at him. “Was I ever really not? Guess it could be worse.” 

Bucky stepped back into the circle and sighed, his focus seeming to dissolve as he settled into the semi-translucent state that Steve had become used to. “Just need a minute, then I’ll be good. You should go back to bed. You know I’m here to wake you up again if needed.” 

After a moment’s more consideration, Steve dragged himself toward his bed, sinking into the plush mattress with a heavy sigh that immediately turned into a cough. Ugh, he felt like he was never going to get any better. As soon as his head hit the pillow he was asleep, his dreams filled with barely-there touches from translucent fingers- that probably should have been frightening but instead filled him with warmth. 

 

Steve woke to a sudden drop in temperature in his room, his eyes barely opening as he curled up tighter in his blankets. 

“Steve, it’s almost noon and your phone won’t stop buzzing. I can’t answer it.” Bucky’s voice was close to his head and Steve whined, his sleep-addled brain slow to process words. 

A touch that felt more like a breeze wafted through the bit of Steve’s hair that poked out from his mountain of blankets, and he grumbled as he emerged, squinting, to try and find where his phone was. 

“I didn’t know you were going to turn into an alarm clock.” Steve grumbled as he grabbed his phone off the bedstand to figure out who was calling. Nat. Of course. “Tasha...I’m not dead, you can stop panicking.” His voice was a bit of a croak, and he had to stop and cough before he could get any more words out. “No, no. I’m still meeting you guys for coffee. I don’t want to hear it- no!” He kicked his blanket off, hissing as his feet touched the cold wood floor. “I’m fine. Bucky uh- Bucky’s keeping an eye on me.” 

Bucky perked up at the mention of himself, giving Steve his cheeky grin as he poked around Steve’s room, gleefully picking up books and rearranging them. Steve flapped his hand at him and gave him a sharp look before putting his hand over the receiver so that Natasha couldn’t hear him. “You’re worse than a kid.” 

Bucky shrugged at him and flickered, the book phasing through his hand and hitting the floor with a thump. “Oops, sorry.” 

Removing his hand covering his phone Steve turned his attention back to Natasha. “No, I’m sorry I slept so long but I’m still coming. You have to tell me about your trip.” Steve shoved his feet into his slippers and shuffled toward the bathroom. “I swear Nat, I’m fine-” He pulled the phone away to cough again, doubling over to try and suck air into his lungs. He really did feel better after sleeping so long, but it would take a while for his lungs to go back to their standard shitty state. 

Nat still sounded incredulous, but agreed to give Steve a few hours before she came over guns blazing to take care of him, likely with Sam in tow. Steve wobbled a bit as he brushed his teeth and squinted at his pill box, Bucky flickering occasionally as he hung around just outside the door. 

“You’re hovering now, Buck.” Steve swallowed the assortment of pills with a wince, his irritated throat scratching all the way down. 

“I’m not hovering. I’m seeing the house.” Bucky picked up Steve’s hairbrush and twirled it, frowning at himself in the mirror. “Jesus, why didn’t you tell me I look like I crawled out of a grave?” 

Steve almost choked on his water. “Oh my God, you are not allowed to make dead jokes.” 

Bucky leaned closer to the mirror, fussing with his hair. “If I don’t, who’s gonna?” 

Steve leaned against the wall to look Bucky over for what felt like the thousandth time already. “You gonna tell me how you died today?” 

Bucky met his gaze through the mirror. “Meteor. No wait, too handsome, killed by a fan.” He couldn’t keep his expression straight for more than a moment before he broke into another wide grin, his eyes crinkling around the edges. 

Steve gave him a flat look in return. “I should send you back to wherever you came from. Don’t rearrange the whole house while I’m gone, please.” 

Even with Bucky trailing after him and slowing down the process, Steve managed to get himself presentable in a reasonable amount of time, wrapping a scarf around his head to keep the cold air from setting off his cough again. Tightening the laces on his boots, Steve gave Bucky a small wave before stepping out, careful not to slip on the ice that had piled up on his porch since he’d been stuck on the couch and unable to throw down any salt. Bucky flickered in the front window, jumping to the second floor, then to just a hint of him back up in the attic window. Okay, that was a little creepy; Steve felt the hair on his arms stand up but he pushed the feeling down. Bucky wasn’t creepy or scary, he was just dead. 

The tinkling bell on the door of the coffee shop greeted Steve warmly as he stepped inside, the familiar coffee and spice smells filling his nose as he pushed his scarf down enough to breathe. 

“Redwing, hey!” Steve looked around just in time to see the big dog trundling toward him, furry tail wagging. He knelt down to scratch his floppy ears. 

“Hey buddy. You really missed me huh? Your dad’s gonna kill you for wandering off.” Steve followed the big auburn dog back to the table where Sam and Nat were sitting. 

Sam did indeed do his best to look disapproving while scooting over so that Steve could join him on the couch. “Hey man.” Sam said, “You look like hell. You sure you’re good?” 

Steve shrugged, unwinding the scarf from around his head so that he could breathe properly. “I’ve been better, but I’m okay.” He reached down to bury his fingers in Redwing’s fur, desperate to talk about anything but his shit health. “How was your trip, Nat?” 

Natasha didn’t seem convinced, but thankfully didn’t press the matter. “Trip was boring honestly, and it cut into my practice time for the recital at the end of the month.” She crossed her legs, taking a sip from her coffee before continuing. “But I came up with a name for my spell.” 

Happy to discuss anything that wasn’t himself, Steve prompted her for any information she would give him, be it about her Widow’s Bites or Sam’s latest training routine with Redwing. At some point Sam got up to get him a coffee, and Steve held it close to his chest, letting the warmth soak through him as he relaxed into the plush couch. 

“So what about your ghost boyfriend?” Natasha had leaned forward again, resting her elbows on her thighs as she regarded Steve. Sam turned toward him too, his expression expectant. 

“He’s not my boyfriend- you two are the worst.” He sighed, staring down into his coffee. “He can get out of the circle now, saved me actually.” 

Sam leaned closer, his expression scrunched with worry. “What? Details, spill.” 

Steve took another long drink from his coffee before launching into the story of Bucky’s sudden ability to manifest anywhere in the house, carefully avoiding looking at his friends as he tried not to linger on the gentle way that Bucky had touched his face after waking him up. Why was he telling this story when it would only give them more ammo to rib him endlessly about having a crush on a dead man. Only him. 

There was a long silence when Steve finished talking, long enough that he looked up, taking in the concern on Natasha and Sam’s faces.

“You stopped breathing?” Sam looked stricken, and Redwing pulled his head off Steve’s lap to go and nudge at his owner. 

Natasha looked a bit like she was going to throw her coffee at him, and Steve tried his best at a reassuring smile. “It ended up alright though, here I am.” As if to emphasize his point he immediately had to double over coughing. 

“It’s a good thing that he was there.” She finally said. “I think it’s just about time we meet your ghost boy, to thank him if nothing else.” 

Steve wheezed, taking another drink from his coffee. “He said he’s too nervous to meet you.” Bucky didn’t strike him as the nervous kind of guy, but if that’s what he wanted then Steve wasn’t going to force him. “I’ll talk to him about it.” 

Nat reached out to touch Sam’s shoulder and they exchanged a look. “What are you going to do? Just leave him incorporeal? You said he can touch now-” 

“Please don’t start up with the ghost dick jokes again.” Steve groaned. Sam couldn’t resist cracking a smile, but there was still worry in his eyes. Steve pushed on. “I’m going to look in the book, in all my books, and see if I can find a spell or something. So that he doesn’t have to be...so ghostly.” Honestly he hadn’t even thought about that after the first few day, but now that he said it he knew that’s what he wanted to do. He wanted to be able to touch Bucky, have him be solid and warm and _there_. But was that even possible? 

Steve pulled himself up abruptly. “I guess I better go and do some research.” 

“Steve, hey-” Sam cut himself off, holding his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. “Nevermind. Good luck.” 

Natasha hugged him before Steve got too far, helping him re-wind his scarf around his head. “Call us if you need anything okay?” She clearly had more to say, but it wasn’t Natasha’s style to say everything on her mind, so she just waved him off. 

The walk back to his house flew by in a haze, Steve’s brain buzzing so loudly that he hardly noticed as he traced the familiar path. When he pushed the door open he walked straight through Bucky who was standing in the foyer, his skin breaking out in goosebumps as he made an undignified squeal at the sensation. 

“Woah woah, where’s the fire?” Bucky took a few steps back, watching Steve wipe at himself to try and get the strange feeling to go away. “Coffee go tits up?” 

Steve squared his jaw. “I’m going to find a way to bring you back. Or at least keep you here without a summoning circle.” 

Bucky blinked at him, flickering for a moment. “Wait, really? You can do that?” 

Steve deflated a little bit. “I honestly don’t know. But I have to try.” He shrugged off his coat, making a beeline for the living room and the large bookcase, careful not to walk through Bucky again. “Uh, Buck?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Why did you stack all the chairs on the table? Taking the poltergeist idea a little far aren’t you?” 

Bucky’s warm laugh filled the room as Steve pulled down the first book. He had no idea if he could do this, but he was going to move heaven and earth if that’s what it took. 

 

The living room quickly turned into mountains of books, which Bucky was having great glee in taking from Steve and organizing carefully into piles: useless, things to come back to, also useless… Steve was trying not to pull out his hair. He hadn’t expected there to be a spell neatly labeled “How to give a ghost physical form,” but he’d hoped there would be at least _something_ to point him in the right direction. But he was not going to be discouraged that easily. 

“Why is it you can pick up the books, but not flip through them?” Steve mused, as he watched Bucky reorganize the middle shelf for the 5th time that day. 

“They’re spell books, apparently I’m not supposed to look in them.” Bucky shrugged, gleefully passing his hand through the flame of the large candle that Steve kept burning on the coffee table, doing its best to fill the room with its off-season smell. He’d gotten this batch of candles from the dollar store, this one in particular because it read ‘Earvest’ instead of ‘Harvest.’ “Can I try and google stuff? The internet wasn’t really a thing when I died.” 

“If it wasn’t then how do you know how to google stuff? I don’t see ghosts and computers going over well.” 

Bucky grumbled, flopping down onto the couch and sinking into it a bit before he could set himself right. He was really getting better at being corporeal, but no matter how much he tried, there was stuff he couldn’t do. He couldn’t touch Steve again, and boy did he try, it seemed like every day he’d make a grab for Steve, or try to throw his arm around him, just to pass through him and give Steve that creepy feeling all over. That initial burst of focus it had taken to touch Steve and wake him up seemed to be something that Bucky couldn’t recreate again. 

“You finally gonna tell me how you died? Was it Y2K?” Steve snorted at his own joke and Bucky gave him a flat look in response. 

“Very funny. Too early for Y2K. Viagra overdose, died after 12 hours of an erection, still balls and knuckle deep into two hookers."

Steve gave an undignified snort. “Oh my God, I hate you. Go upstairs and bring me the books from my room, would you? I gotta get through this one and then make some dinner.” 

They passed the rest of the month that way, Steve trying his best not to get discouraged and Bucky doing his best to bug Steve whenever his sighs got too loud. It became a game, every day Steve would thumb through books while Bucky told him about the things he remembered doing while he was alive: his sisters, his punk friends, how boring school was. Steve knew he could probably google Bucky at this point and find out how he actually died, but he just didn’t want to. Every morning he’d ask Bucky how he died, and every day Bucky would come up with a more ridiculous answer. 

“I fell off a train, snapped my arm off on the way down, looked cool the whole time I was falling.”

“I’m sure you looked real cool.” 

“Realized I’d reached my potential and stepped in front of a bus.” 

“You’re certainly dramatic enough.” 

“Some punk offered me a bottle of wine and then walled me into his house.” 

“You stole that from Poe.” 

"I was a down on my luck prostitute in Paris, and then I fell in love with a beautiful john. I ended up getting shot right in front of him at a show."

"Fuck you, we watched Moulin Rouge last week."

“I’m actually an ultra-powerful warlock that got into a magic fight and blew myself up.” 

“Alright, help me with the spellbooks then.” 

By the end of the month Steve had run out of books, and was running out of leads for things to try. He spooned soup into his mouth while pouring over his notes and eyeing Bucky. 

“Gonna tell me today?” 

“You won’t believe me.” 

“Because you’re full of shit.” He scrolled through the results that the library had pulled up for him, ordering books that he could pick up in a few days. Internet, so helpful. 

“Really, I swear to god-”

"Bucky. _Bucky_. Seriously. I'm not gonna judge you. However it happened. It's fine."

"You mean that?" Bucky sounded serious and Steve actually set down his spoon to meet his gaze. 

"Of course I do," Steve said. 

"I mean... I didn't want to say. It's so... it's embarrassing." Bucky actually ducked his head and ran his fingers through his hair in what appeared to be genuine embarrassment. 

"It's fine. Whatever it is." Steve even leaned forward a bit, elbows on the table. 

"Well. It was my first time...you know...with someone else. I got all excited and ...It was just awful."

Steve felt his stomach sink through the floor. “ _Bucky_.”

"...My dick was so huge that when I got hard all the blood rushed out of my brain and I died." Bucky couldn't even get to the end of his sentence before he burst into laughter hard enough to have him phasing through the chair and hitting the floor with a thunk. 

"....Fuck you. Fuck you so much." Steve picked back up his spoon and opened another tab on his computer. 

 

The library books took another week to all arrive, and Steve actually dragged the little red wagon he’d gotten as a boy down to the library to pick them up. Because no way in hell was he going to make two trips, not in this cold. 

Bucky fluttered in the doorway, wringing his hands and wanting to help, but even though he’d mastered manifesting around the house he couldn’t leave. Not that any of that stopped him from trying. 

Heaving the books through into the living room, Steve set them up, looking around at the decidedly cleaner room. “You’re kind of a neat freak, aren’t you?” He didn’t push it any further, watching Bucky toss kindling into the fire to get it going again, giggling when he reached in to the flames rearrange the logs to his liking. 

Pulling his phone out of his pocket Steve noticed that both Sam and Natasha had sent him a flurry of photos of Redwing wearing a santa hat and looking very put-upon, each with a different holiday pun as a caption. Steve snorted, turning his phone to show Bucky before sending them a silly face in return and telling them to stop torturing the best of their lot. 

“So what about today? Gonna tell me how you died while I read yet another riveting howto book?” Dragging the closest book toward him Steve flipped it open, hoping for a glossary. 

Bucky curled up on the couch next to him. "So I was kidnapped by this weirdo and he and his lackeys did experiments on me!"

Steve made interested noises while flipping through the yellowed pages. "Experiments. Like aliens?"

"Exactly,” Bucky sounded quite invested in his story, “But less butt stuff and more drugs that made me ask 'why the hell is his head in an old TV set', y'know?"

Steve reached over to nudge him, wincing as his hand passed through Bucky’s thigh. “I don’t know how you can possibly be full of so much shit, Bucky Barnes.” 

 

By the 3 month mark the snow was starting to melt, even if it hadn’t been much warmer, and Steve was at his wit’s end. 

“No Nat, I swear, short of summoning a zombie there is literally nothing in the Tri State Area with any information on how to give a ghost physical form.” He’d spent days pouring over the meager notes he’d managed to gather until the words ran together in his head. Bucky hadn’t seemed discouraged, had continued to gleefully come up with ridiculous deaths and stay on almost every one of Steve’s nerves while at the same time being charming and endearing as hell. Is this what loving someone felt like? Steve had never done that before. 

“I’ve done that.” Steve continued, “I’ve honestly tried everything.” He sighed, scrubbing his free hand over his face. “No, I’m not giving up. I’m just...maybe I’m going at this wrong. Yeah, I won’t work too hard. I’ll text you.” 

Bucky popped his head in, or through, the kitchen door. “Hey Stevie.” 

Steve shoved his phone in his pocket and pulled his notebook toward himself again. “What’ve you got today, Buck?” 

"I was kidnapped by this weirdo--"

"Yeah, yeah, I know.” Steve tapped his pen against his lip as Bucky pulled out the chair across from him to sit. “Experiments. TV head."

"Yeah, but this time there _was_ butt stuff. So much butt stuff."

"...this time?" Steve raised an eyebrow at him and Bucky grinned. 

"I mean, the only time! That time. The time that it really happened."

Steve didn’t feel like dignifying that with an answer, but still said: “Go on.” 

"Butt stuff was all they were prepared to do, because those previously mentioned experiments are why my dick is so unnaturally huge." Bucky always sounded so serious, when he wasn’t laughing his ass off at Steve’s annoyed expression. 

"An awful lot of these deaths involve sex."

"This may come as a shock to you, but it's been a while for me, pal."

Steve chuckled down at his notes. “You can go jerk off, or can ghosts not do that?” 

Bucky made a scandalized noise. “Of course we can. Or, I can, if I wanted to. It’s just-” Bucky reached over to close Steve’s notebook and Steve huffed at him. 

“Let me guess, some joke about your monsterous dick?” 

"I mean, I'm not saying it was a baseball bat...I'm just sayin' it was a _baseball bat_." 

Steve glared at him. “You keep talking like that but I don’t see any proof.” 

Bucky’s grin turned coy and he batted his eyelashes at Steve. “You wanna see Stevie? I thought you were a nice guy.” 

Steve struggled to keep a straight face as his cheeks colored. God damnitt. Bucky doubled over to laugh and Steve did his best impression of a tomato. 

“You’re too good, Steve.” Bucky stood, pacing around the table to lean down and cup his fingers around Steve’s jaw. Steve shivered at the cool sensation, a not-there touch. Bucky looked down at him for a long moment before he continued. “A hell of a guy.” 

Steve flushed again. “You’re a sap.” 

 

It seemed like no time at all before spring flowers were poking out of freshly unearthed grass, and Steve felt no closer to an answer. Bucky, however, had learned how to do all kinds of things, from working the TV to making the microwave heat up leftovers without it exploding due to his mere presence; really it was like having a proper roommate. Too bad Steve didn’t want a roommate. 

“You’re glowering again. Your face is gonna stick that way eventually. Take a break from the book Stevie.” Bucky reached through him and plucked the book from his hands, ignoring Steve’s half-hearted attempts at taking it back. 

“I don’t think I can do it. I don’t think there’s a spell in any of these books to make you really corporeal.” Steve wasn’t one to give up, and the words left a bitter taste in his mouth. “I’m sorry…” 

“Hey, don’t worry about it too much.” Bucky flopped down next to him. “We knew it was a long shot.” 

“But Buck-” Steve leaned closer to him, his hand coming up to touch his arm out of instinct. “If I don’t-” 

Bucky turned to meet his gaze. “I’m not gonna go.” 

Steve wanted to argue, the temptation to push into a fight rising in his chest the way it always did. “Bucky, if there’s one thing these books are all agreeing on it’s that you can’t stay.” He snatched one of his pages of notes from the floor around him. “If the spirit stays in the mortal relm for too long, it will become corrupted.” He looked up to Bucky’s unimpressed expression. “You’ll turn into a poltergeist, something mean and cold…If I can’t find a way to keep you here permanently then I can’t let you stay.” 

Bucky was chewing his lip, his tongue flicking out over his bottom lip as he thought. “We’ll just have to think of something. I’m not leaving you alone again.” 

“I don’t want to send you away, you know that right? But I have to do what’s best.” 

Bucky’s frown deepened. “What’s best? What’s best for who exactly?” He stood, crossing his arms. “I’ll stay until we can figure out a spell, end of story. Speaking of, I’m going to see if there’s anything on the other side; with that many dead people there’s bound to be some forgotten knowledge.” 

And with that Bucky faded out abruptly, and Steve felt the pressure in the room change with a crackle across his skin. Well, that could have gone better. 

 

Bucky didn’t come back for the rest of the day, and Steve was surprised by how much he missed him. It was like the sore ache where your tongue presses into the hole after you get a tooth pulled. He’d expected to miss Bucky, but he hadn’t realized how much he’d gotten used to not being alone anymore. 

Instead of focusing on it Steve threw himself into his notes, desperate to find something within that he’d missed, but after pouring over them until his eyes started to sting he had made no headway at all. He curled up on the couch with a bowl of soup cradled in his hands and turned on the TV for something to break up the silence of the house. 

How was he supposed to do this when he had to send Bucky away? Just thinking about it made him feel sick. He’d really grown to care for Bucky, hell, there was no denying it, he’d fallen for him. Truly Bucky was kind of an insufferable jerk, but… Steve was actually in love with him. That was how it was, wasn’t it? His grip on the bowl tightened and Steve had to close his eyes. 

“Only you would fall for a dead man…” Steve whispered into the stale air of the living room. “Idiot.” 

By the time he’d finished his soup Steve felt a little better, though the sudden putting to words on his feelings had left him a little shaky. If he couldn’t do this, if he couldn’t figure out a spell, then he’d lose Bucky forever, and he’d be alone again. What was he supposed to do? A small voice in the back of his head nagged him with black thoughts but he pushed them away- there was no easy way for this- he just had to get the spell. 

He texted Nat for a while, guilty that he’d been so busy with his researching that he’d missed a few of their group coffee dates. He deserved her teasing, but he was glad to hear that she had managed to fine-tune her spell. Maybe she could even show it off at the biennial magic fair. Sam sent him two more photos of Redwing in his christmas hat with more dorky captions, and Steve promised to meet him at the end of the week for a game of pool. 

Too frustrated to do anything else with his notes, Steve decided just to go to bed early, curling up under his comforter and eyeing the plants he’d set out on the windowsill. Bucky had spent a lot of time researching them, and between the two of them they’d managed to keep Sarah’s plants alive, much to Steve’s relief. 

“I hope I can figure something out.” Steve whispered to the tiny aloe plant closest to him. “I don’t want to lose him.” 

Bucky didn’t come back the next day, or the day after. By the third day with not a peep, Steve had started to worry, but tried to keep himself focused on pouring over his dwindling pile of books. He started going back through every one, even irrelevant spells he paid close attention to, maybe he could combine the attributes of a few of them… 

By the week’s end Steve found himself loathe to leave the house to go and meet Sam. What if something had happened to Bucky and he couldn’t come back? But he’d said he wouldn’t leave Steve’s side… 

Sam wouldn’t hear it from him when he called and tried to reschedule. 

“Ghost boy is probably just busy. Who knows how many books there are in the spiritual plane? Besides, I’m already on my way to get you, I have to drive right by.” 

Steve grumbled but ultimately agreed, shoving his feet in his shoes and meeting Sam outside. Redwing poked the back of his head with his cold nose through the hole in the headrest and Steve reached back to scratch his ears. 

“Sorry I’ve been so busy.” Steve said. 

Sam shrugged, resting one wrist on the wheel while he steered with the other. “No headway on the spell?” 

“No, I’ve learned how to turn a turnip into a stopwatch but I’m not any closer to giving Bucky physical form.” 

Sam made a soft thoughtful noise. “Maybe getting your ass kicked at pool will give you a few hours of well-deserved break. Then you can shove your nose back into pages.” 

Steve scoffed. “Who’s going to be losing to who now?” 

Pool did successfully take Steve’s mind off incessantly worrying about Bucky, and he got to watch Sam curse and huff as Steve kicked his ass soundly three times in a row. Once Sam switched to darts however, Steve knew he was beat. His depth perception was shit and he kept sinking the darts into the wall. After losing without a single point, Steve decided to go and wrestle with Redwing. 

Sam flipped through TV channels while Steve tried to keep the big dog from sitting on him, tossing his ball down the long hallway and watching him scramble after it. 

“What’re you going to do now?” Sam didn’t look at him, but Steve knew what he meant. 

“I hafta try.” Steve took the soggy ball from Redwing and lobbed it again. “If I don’t… He’ll stay and turn into a poltergeist.” 

Sam made the thoughtful noise again. “I’d hate to exorcise your boyfriend.” 

Steve looked up at him sharply. “He’s not-” Sam raised an eyebrow at him and Steve flushed. “Well, we haven’t talked about it, and I don’t plan to if I can’t get this spell figured.” 

Sam just nodded, seemingly satisfied with dropping the subject as soon as he realized that there was a solid block of Stargate reruns. Steve groaned. 

“Bucky has been watching this too, I just can’t get away.” 

Sam brandished the remote at him. “Stargate is amazing and you know it.” 

Steve grumbled, but crawled back up onto the couch next to Sam, reflexively taking the ball from Redwing to throw once more. “I like Star Trek better.” 

“Hush and watch the show.” Sam took the ball from Redwing this time, throwing it expertly so that it made the corner at the end of the hall and the big dog had to scramble after it into the other room. 

Steve stayed until he started falling asleep on Sam, only after agreeing to visit again sooner than later and taking a big container of leftover chicken. Did Nat and Sam think he didn’t eat? Every time they seemed to be giving him food. Not that he was going to complain. 

Redwing seemed determined to crawl out with him when he got out of the car, but a sharp word from Sam had him shoving his nose back into the hole in the headrest, only to stick the end of his tongue out in his dorky doggy blep. Steve couldn’t help but grin. 

“I’ll see you around Sam. Don’t work too hard.” 

Steve shivered when he stepped into the house. Evidently the fire had gone out completely while he was gone and it was bitter cold inside. He hurried in, shoving the chicken in the fridge before making for the living room and leaning down to poke at the coals. 

“You were burning just fine when I left. Now my toes are going to be freezing all night.” 

Steve gasped sharply when he turned and stood to go and grab some kindling, almost stepping right through Bucky, who had appeared right behind him. “Bucky! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph you scared me! What’s wrong?” 

Bucky’s expression was set into grim determination, his posture tense and on-edge. 

“Slipped on the pier at night at Coney Island. Hit my head and went into the water without so much as a peep. Water was too cold to survive more than a few minutes. No one found me until I washed up on the beach two days later.” 

Steve stared wordlessly at him, his eyes round. “Buck-” 

“I found the spell. Or...the base of a spell.” Bucky’s expression didn’t change. “But it’s no good.” 

Steve almost reached out to grab the front of his shirt, his hands coming up before he could stop himself. “What do you mean? Bucky, tell me- you found a spell?” 

Bucky nodded, holding his hand up to reveal what looked like directions for a spell circle scribbled on his palm. “But like I said, it’s no good.” 

Steve wanted to hit him. “You were gone for almost a week! You better start explaining.” 

Bucky licked his lips in the way he always did when he was thinking. “It’s too much. For the spell to work… you have to bind my soul to yours. No take-backs, and it’ll hurt, and there’s a chance it won’t work at all.” 

“I’ll take it.” Steve stared up at him. “Of course I’m willing.” 

Bucky deflated a little, dropping his gaze. “Stevie…” 

“Bucky, I swear. I’m with you.” Steve wanted desperately to touch him, turn his face back to look at him. 

Bucky gave him a crooked smile. “I shoulda known you wouldn’t miss a beat. Well we’re not doing this tonight, needs to be a full moon anyway.” 

Steve swayed closer to him. “Missed you, jerk.” 

 

Bucky wouldn’t tell him the specifics of the spell, and his handwriting was so bad that Steve couldn’t read it off his hand if he tried. At least it wouldn’t wash off. 

“Stop stress-cleaning. The place is good enough.” Steve piped up from his piles of books as he tried to organize them back onto the shelves. Apparently Bucky was a neat freak in disguise. “You lived here for almost 6 months, no one is going to come and judge me on cleanliness.” 

Bucky waved the duster at him, though it tried to slip through his hand and he had to make a grab for it. “Maybe if I’m going to be living here permanently I want it to be a little cleaner.” 

“If you’re going to eat my food, should I make you go get a job?” Steve expertly dodged the coaster that Bucky tossed at his head. Neither of them knew how this spell was going to work- the book that Bucky had found was particularly vague on the specifics of the transformation- but it had promised that if the spell worked successfully that Bucky would be permanently corporeal and no longer in danger of becoming a poltergeist. For all intents and purposes he would be a real living person again.

“Maybe I could go back to school. Actually learn something for once.” Bucky seemed excited at the prospect of living again. “Or maybe I’ll just spend a few days outside, as big as this house is it gets a little boring.” 

They spent the next few days musing about the things that Bucky could do once he was “a real boy again”, as Bucky happily proclaimed. He wouldn’t be quite alive, but he would have a lot more autonomy, and he able to go and do things that he wanted without having to practice going from room to room the way he did now. 

After crossing out days on the calendar on the fridge, it was finally the night of the full moon and they were both jittery. Bucky helped Steve draw out the complicated magic circle, and set up the tea lights that Steve hadn’t needed for a few months. Steve was hit by a wave of nostalgia, the soft light catching Bucky in the glow the same way that it had the first night. Wow, he really was a sap. He quickly turned to focus on the candles before Bucky could catch him staring doe-eyed and dopey. 

“What else do we need?” Steve asked as he watched Bucky squint at his hand again. 

“I think this is it.” Bucky stepped over the circle of lights and the candles flickered for a moment before stilling. Steve quickly followed, making sure not to catch his pant leg on the candles. 

They stood there for a long moment before Bucky shook himself and squared his shoulders. “Before we do this…” 

Steve held up his hands. “You’re not getting cold feet are you?” 

“No, nothing like that.” Bucky reached for him, and Steve leaned his cheek into Bucky’s almost-there touch. “It’s nothing. I’ll tell you after.” 

Steve gave him a soft smile, mentally preparing himself while Bucky dug the carefully written spell out of his pocket. Steve had double and triple-checked that he’d gotten all the words right, there was no messing this one up. 

Bucky returned his smile as he flattened out the page on his thigh. “Deep breath, okay?” 

The first few words of the spell fell stilted from Bucky’s lips, but the candles around them flickered and swayed immediately. Steve almost said something but was cut off when a blinding pain started up in his chest. It felt like someone was trying to shove their hands between his ribs. He doubled over with a wheeze and Bucky stopped abruptly. 

“Don’t stop- I can do this.” Steve wheezed, shaking and letting himself drop to his knees. 

Bucky slowly started up with the spell again and the pickaxe-to-the-heart feeling returned, making Steve squeeze his eyes shut and grind his teeth together to keep from shouting. He felt too full, like he was going to burst at the seams, but the pain only burned hotter. He had to do this, had to do this for Bucky. He couldn’t lose him after all this. He lo-

The pain stopped suddenly and he found himself shaking and panting, on his hands and knees on the cool wood floor, flinching hard when a pair of hands grabbed at him, steadying his shoulders and helping him lift his head. 

“Bucky.” Steve’s voice came out as a croak, and he coughed hard, willing his limbs to stop shaking. 

“Hey you punk.” Bucky knelt down in front of him, his soft hands cradling Steve’s face. He was warm, warm and solid and really touching Steve for the first time ever. Steve felt his heart clench painfully and he failed to bite back a sob, surging forward into Bucky’s lap before he could think about it. 

Bucky gathered him in close, still touching his face so gently. “Hey, none of that. Look here.” 

Steve took a shuddering breath, blinking up at Bucky when he tipped Steve’s chin up again and pressed their lips together. 

There was wetness on both of their cheeks when Steve finally pulled away, and they both tried not to make a show of wiping at their faces. 

“Been wanting to do that since the first day.” Bucky said, rubbing his thumb in soft circles against Steve’s shoulder. “You’re really stuck with me now. You and that stupid hat of yours.” 

Steve laughed in a way that sounded more like a sob. “Guess I am.”


End file.
